1667 Book(s) Related to taimashi to akuma-chan

He is my master, I am his slave, his son my lover.

Set in a fictional historical world, Grand Duke of Wynthorpe, Lucian Blackwell unexpectedly purchases Sarang, a lunari slave, to serve as companion for his son, Nathaniel. Overtime, Lucian and Nathaniel develop deep, conflicting emotions for him. While Nathaniel seeks to free him, Lucian's growing attachment complicates the relationships between the three.

Caught in a tense emotional triangle, Sarang is torn between his loyalty to Lucian and his blossoming romance with Nathaniel. As boundaries between servitude and freedom blur, Sarang must navigate a world where love, power, and desire clash.

My target should be terrified of me.
Instead, he's smirking like he already knows I'll never pull the trigger.
My heart races in my chest. This isn't me.
I am born to kill. I am born to take orders.
Yet those eyes, they're killing me.

She was born into power.
Now she chooses revenge.

Valentina Santangelo doesn’t belong in the shadows.
She was raised in them.

Daughter of a legacy built on blood, secrets, and ruthless control, Valentina has spent her life watching empires rise… and enemies fall. She knows the rules of this world. She knows how to survive it.

What she didn’t expect…
was to become its most dangerous player.

When betrayal rips through her family and threatens everything her father built, Valentina is done standing on the side-lines. She steps into the game—cold, calculated, and ready to make them pay.

But revenge has a price.

And the man standing in her way?
He’s not just her enemy…
He’s the one man who sees through every wall she’s built.

Dark. Dangerous. Impossible to resist.

As loyalty turns to obsession and desire collides with vengeance, Valentina must decide how far she’s willing to go—
and whether love is worth the risk of losing everything.

Because in her world…
you don’t fall in love.

You survive it.

Six years ago, Marlowe Kestrel drowned in the Duskhaven canals, or at least that is what the obituary said, what the empty coffin implied, and what every ruling House in the city has believed ever since.

In reality she swam two streets over, bribed a mortician with a forged signature, and built herself a new, gloriously unremarkable life as a small time magical forger who fixes other people's problems for coin and never, ever asks about bloodlines. It was a good plan.

It worked for six entire years, which is roughly five years and eleven months longer than anyone expected a Kestrel to survive in hiding. Then Jonas, the only man alive who knew her real name, turns up dead in his own workshop with a mark burned into his palm that Marlowe has spent her whole life trying to forget she carries too, and the only lead worth following belongs to Cassian Draven, heir to the most feared criminal House in the city, a man with a smile like a drawn blade and a family reputation built on making problems disappear as thoroughly as Marlowe once did herself.

Cassian recognizes her in under a minute, does not turn her in, and instead offers a deal she has no good reason to accept and every practical reason to take, pose as his fiancée at the season's summit of ruling Houses, help him smoke out whoever is hunting them both, and maybe, if she is very lucky and very careful, walk away with her second fake death arranged before anyone notices the first one was fake too.

The trouble is, the longer she spends pretending to love a Draven, the harder it gets to remember that hating him was ever supposed to be the easy part.

I’m a retired special forces soldier.

Three months ago, my little brother vanished—and every lead went dead.

I tracked the trail to a private rehab clinic on a tropical island. On the surface, it’s wellness and recovery. Underneath, it’s an organ market.

Following the clinic led me to one person—her. She specializes in luring “donors” through the front door.

To avenge my brother, I got close on purpose and let her become my girlfriend.

She thought I was easy money, a body delivered to her table, and she brought me into that clinic herself.

She didn’t know I’d been waiting for this moment for three months.

On the operating table, the needle hovered three centimeters from my skin.

She thought I was finished.

She didn’t know these hands have held a gun—and snapped more than a few necks.

My wife and in-laws have been acting strange lately.

They've always hated the Texas farm, but now they suddenly care about me and the ranch.

My wife, who used to complain about me spending money on the "doomsday bunker" farmhouse project, is now actually encouraging me to complete it.

They even say I've been working too hard and bought me a plane ticket to Mexico.

Just as I'm about to take the ticket, a barrage comment appears before my eyes—

【Don't go! Your wife has been reborn from the apocalypse—she wants you to die out there!】

At the company's annual client appreciation dinner, I was the one in charge of booking the venue.
To save the company money, I picked my aunt's upscale restaurant with a skyline view. Since we were family, she only charged us at cost. When I posted the details in our Slack channel to confirm with the team, no one had any objections—except for the intern, who slowly tagged me in the chat:
[Arthur, I don't mean anything by it.]
[I just want to ask—how big a kickback did you get for booking your family's restaurant?]
[After all, the money for this dinner is coming out of our bonus pool.]
[So you should return that money to the rest of us, right?]
The other coworkers started liking the message and chiming in to support him.
So I dropped the whole thing on the spot and handed the task over to that intern, who loved talking about "fixing workplace injustice."
Then the night of the dinner came.
From the CEO all the way down to the investors, everyone was pinned on the deck and searched by armed Coast Guard officers.
The most important client contact collapsed from a heart attack on the spot and was airlifted by helicopter straight to the ICU, costing the company a multimillion-dollar enterprise cybersecurity contract.

On my wedding night, I discovered the man in my bed wasn't my husband.
It was his twin brother—the one the family had exiled.
In my previous life, I exposed them in a rage.
My cheating husband came back, smashed my head open, and threw me into the ocean to be fed to the sharks.
But this time, reborn with a second chance, I cupped the face of the man in front of me—the face identical to my husband's—and slowly untied my wedding dress.
"Since he personally delivered you to my bed, then from now on... you're the husband."
This time, I'm going to raise up the loyal stand-in, and take everything from that bastard.

My name is Grace Lawson. In everyone’s eyes, I’m a young, beautiful, and widely renowned hypnotist.
I’m also the girlfriend and cooperative partner of Adrian Carter, a rising star in the business world.
Lovers and partners—we raked in money together, winning big and shining bright.
In just three years—one thousand days and nights—I stood by him from nothing to everything, through every storm.
And yet, even with love and profit working well together, he still wouldn’t bring up marriage.
Until I happened to hear him say:
“A woman like Grace Lawson isn’t suited to be a wife.”
“Who knows if the love I feel for her is just one of her schemes?”
Later, I broke my promise and hypnotized him.
That was when he finally got scared—when he understood my hypnosis could make him willingly do anything.
But I only said softly: “Adrian Carter, close your eyes… Forget me. Forget me completely.”

On the first day of the zombie outbreak, my two roommates and I made a crazy decision: before the banking system crashed, we'd take out dozens of online loans and high-limit credit cards!
"Since it's the end of the world, who the hell cares about credit scores? Borrow money! Buy out the supermarket! We don't have to pay it back anyway!"
We smashed through walls, welded the security door shut, and used millions of dollars worth of supplies to build a makeshift shelter . We thought we could survive this catastrophe.
Until that day, in a moment of madness, I rescued a pregnant stranger right under the zombies' noses.
I forgot that in the apocalypse, the smell of amniotic fluid and blood is the ultimate death warrant that attracts monsters from the entire city…

As the zombie with half its face rotten lunged at my throat, an utterly absurd thought popped into my head. Instinctively, I raised the supermarket barcode scanner in my hand and aimed it at its face.

"Beep—Target: Level 1 Mutant Infected Person. Estimated Recovery Value: Equivalent to half a bottle of mineral water."

Who would have thought that in this cannibalistic apocalypse, these bloodthirsty monsters who feel no pain and only know how to kill could actually be forcibly converted into cash by the system?!

From that day on, I completely trampled the laws of this broken world under my feet.

While others were killing each other in the ruins for half a piece of moldy bread, I was comfortably sitting in my "Red Lion" supermarket, doing big business with a zombie whose head I had smashed in half.

Two bags of flour, I traded for a box of antibiotics; three boxes of sausages, and it led a zombie squad to the police station to empty my armory. As long as I can afford it, these tireless monsters are my most loyal laborers.

A vicious thug drove a bulldozer and smashed through my wall, threatening to chop up the men and take the women away. I didn't even draw my gun; I just yelled at the door, "Kill these scumbags, and all twenty kilograms of bacon are yours!" The next second, an army of zombies burst through the window and tore the thugs to pieces in an instant.

The arrogant leader of the survivor base, driving five hundred refugees to act as human shields, attempted to use moral blackmail to force me to hand over supplies? I sneered and sounded the air raid siren, awakening the horde of zombies throughout the city. I sat in front of the monitor, sipping hot tea, watching her, who was once so invincible, be completely swallowed by the monsters, as if watching a play.

Trying to take over my territory? First, ask my paid zombie bodyguards outside if they'll allow it!

Through a crazy "equivalent exchange" strategy, I transformed a run-down supermarket into an impregnable steel fortress that even regular troops couldn't break into.

Until that day, the military defenses completely collapsed. Seven four-meter-tall, city-destroying "tyrants" led a super horde of 150,000 zombies to the city's gates! With only sixty seconds left on the countdown to the tactical nuclear missile, the arrogant military commander, his eyes red with tears, begged me to intervene and save the city.

I was trapped underground by seven tyrants, chewing on the last piece of chocolate my zombie underling had left me before he died, and pressed the system's "Ultimate Equivalence".

The system asked me if I was willing to trade my life for absolute control over 150,000 mutants in the entire city.

I smiled and said, "Deal."

When the white light of the nuclear explosion dissipated, and the entire city was reduced to ruins, everyone assumed I was gone without a trace. But I, leaning against the intact rooftop of the fortress, looked down at the tyrant who humbly submitted to me, my eyes gleaming with a dark golden light.

In this lawless hell, my rules are the only ironclad law!

Just because my face was severely burned in the fire, a woman pointed her finger at me, screaming and falsely accusing me of molesting her son to the whole society.
She incited online violence, ruining my livelihood; she distorted the truth, bringing in corrupt police officers who tortured me to the point of near death.
She thought she could extort some unexpected money.
But she had no idea that my severe burns were because I saved the governor in the fire!

At the family dinner, a Wall Street rising star flaunted his power in front of me, boasting that he was the chief agent of the "Godfather of the Underworld."
My ex-wife's family fawned over me like dogs, pointing their fingers at me and taunting, "You spineless, gigolo trash, you're not even worthy to carry Mr. Victor's shoes!"
Victor, even more smug, turned on speakerphone, trying to use my privileges to curry favor with my wife.
I stood silently in the corner, coldly pressing a blood-red command: [Permanently Delete Account].
The next second, the system's cold pronouncement came through his phone: "Warning, you have overstepped your authority and have been banned across the entire network!"
The room fell silent instantly.
They had no idea that I was the true Godfather, the one who controlled a multi-billion dollar empire and ruled the Western underworld!

A zombie outbreak occurred, and my brother and I were both reborn ten minutes before the disaster struck.
This time, he seized the initiative, stealing the two high-level god-tier abilities, [Flame] and [Hardening], and casually pushed me out of the security door, locking me in the zombie-infested corridor.
Through the security door, he arrogantly declared, "In my past life, you always stood in front of me; in this life, I'll take the mark of survival."
In his eyes, the [Tracking] and [Preset] abilities the system assigned me were nothing but useless pieces of paper.
He thought I would die a horde of zombies.
But he didn't know that in the hands of a top hunter, seemingly useless skills could weave a hellish web that made life unbearable and death unthinkable.

Five years ago, on our wedding day, my fiancée Vivian was in the bridal suite fucking my best man.
Five years later, I returned to New York with my wife—the most powerful Mafia matriarch in Naples. At Atelier Milano, Brandon, the same "best man" who betrayed me, fawned over my custom-tailored suit, groveling to the staff about how desperately he wanted to meet the legendary Mr. Salvatore.
He had no idea...
The man he'd once written off as a pathetic loser was the very person he was now begging to impress.

To help his life-saving benefactor, he personally pressed a pregnant me on the operating table to draw bone marrow.
I cried and begged him, "James, I'm pregnant. It's your child. Don't do this to me..."
But he had a look of disgust in his eyes. "Elizabeth, you'd lie about something like that just to get out of helping Mandy?"
Until there was a river of blood in the operating room and that unformed child turned into a pool of bloody water, he finally panicked.
Later, when he knew that the person who saved him in the fire ten years ago was actually me, he held my ashes and knelt outside the operating room for a full three days.

On my birthday, I was dragged up to the attic and assaulted by several men.
I called my parents, brother, and boyfriend for help, but they all thought I was seeking attention and ruining my sister Sophie's celebration.
"Mia, stop it. We're busy preparing for Sophie's party. If you want attention, find another way."
This was the hundredth time they'd let me down.
But there won't be a hundred and first.
Because I'm already dead.

On our sixth anniversary, instead of a gift, my husband Liam video-called me while holding his first love, Sophia.
On screen, that woman proudly waved a positive pregnancy test while Liam sneered at me: "Sophia got pregnant on the first try. Proves your body's the problem, not mine!"
Clutching my own newly confirmed pregnancy report, my heart turned to ice. I decided to file for divorce.
But at the celebratory party Liam threw for Sophia, I was pushed to the ground—blood staining my dress.
When I begged for help, Liam coldly looked away: "Stop faking. It's just period cramps. Don't ruin the party."

My stepsister and I tumbled down the stairs together. As someone with a blood clotting disorder, my spleen ruptured—I was bleeding internally, desperate for surgery to stop it.
But my mother—the renowned chief of surgery—pulled every specialist from the ER. To consult on my stepsister's condition.
All she had was a sprained ankle. Not even a scratch. Yet mom insisted on running every test in the book. And me? Left alone on that cold floor, bleeding out, half my body already soaked in blood.
I clutched at her pants, begging her to save me. But she kicked my hand away and looked at me with pure disgust.
"Lily, are you really so desperate for a man's attention that you'd pull a cheap stunt like this? Your sister's foot is swollen—and you have the nerve to fake your death here?"
In the end, I died alone in a corner of that ignored ER.
But when they wheeled my cold body out of the morgue—and they finally learned about my clotting disorder—
That mother who claimed to hate me completely lost her mind.

My brother was jealous after I won a $50 million lottery jackpot, so he tricked me into believing an extreme ice-age apocalypse was coming.
Because I trusted him, I spent every last dollar my parents and I had—fortifying the house and stockpiling supplies.
Two weeks later, he told me that there was no coming apocalypse. It had all been a lie.
Just when I was drowning in despair, hail started falling in the middle of summer.
The deep freeze apocalypse had really begun.

After accidentally traveling to the post-apocalyptic wasteland, I treated the human leader as a brother, continuously supplying him with modern resources.

Who knew he would conspire with the beastman chieftain to kill me, just to prevent me from rescuing others.

But what he didn't know was that I could travel back to the modern world.

While those two leaders of the wasteland thought themselves invincible...

I healed my wounds, and returned to the wasteland with military hardware and food, storming back to their base!

You want my life?

Then pay for it with your own!

At the dinner party, Alexander had his arm around my waist, chatting and laughing with clients in German.
I was about to tell him the happy news that I was pregnant.
He was tender and affectionate in front of me, kissing my cheek from time to time.
But they didn't know my German was fluent enough to understand every dirty detail.
Like right now, I heard him bragging to the client about how wild things got last night with his stepsister Lillian.

I'm a blind girl, and I've always been close with the old lady living next door.
One day, I caught the smell of blood coming from her apartment.
Worried something had happened to her, I pushed her door open—and instantly realized my mistake.
I had walked right into a murder scene.
The killer was still there.
I had to take a chance.
Betting that my pale, sightless eyes could fool those blood-crazed ones.
I stepped into the blood-soaked room, smiled toward where the body lay, and called out,
"Ma'am, the store has oranges on sale—I brought some over for you..."

When the apocalyptic red rain fell, my brother and I both awakened spatial abilities.

He awakened a space as vast as a mansion and was hailed by the entire family as their savior.

While I only awakened a "suitcase" and was ruthlessly drained of all my assets by my parents to support my brother, then kicked out of the house.

They mocked me cruelly: "We don't keep deadweights. Go wait for death in the 70-degree furnace outside!"

What they didn't know was that my brother's space had no preservation function—his stockpile of premium ingredients would soon rot into a pile of maggot-infested meat.

But my suitcase had upgrade attributes!

While they fought each other over a sip of putrid green water in the 200-degree hellscape,

I sat in the "Eden" I had created, watching herds of cattle and sheep, drinking ice-cold fresh milk.

My fiancé accused me of not caring about family.
To appease him, I planned a family vacation.
But the night before we left, he informed me that he'd given my first-class seat to his childhood sweetheart.
And me? He stuck me in coach on a flight flagged for possible terror threats.
Everyone in his family thought I should just go along with it.
That was the moment I woke up.
I tore up the itinerary and booked myself a trip to Hawaii instead.
Then I turned off my phone and let them sweat over the hotel bill.
It wasn't until their reservation got canceled that they finally started to panic.

"Strip her naked and throw her in a dog cage."
When Vincent Sterling gave the order, Serena clutched her stomach in despair: "I'm carrying your baby!"
Vincent just lit a cigarette, watching coldly as the bodyguard’s boot slammed into her belly. "Get rid of it. I don't want anything filthy."
That night, to avenge his childhood sweetheart, Vincent personally killed his own flesh and blood, trampling his wife—whom he had loved for ten years—into the mud.
Later, the truth came to light.
The so-called "infidelity videos" are AI-generated, and the manipulative woman's pain is self-perpetuated.
Seeing the signed divorce agreement and the blood-stained ring, the arrogant Vincent went completely mad.
He knelt in the pouring rain for three days and nights, begging her to come back.
This time, Serena sat in her wheelchair, gazing down at him with an icy, detached gaze.
"Vincent, I don't hate you, but I hate you for being filthy."

My twin brother and I were reborn at the same time.
In our previous life, he kicked me into the borderland overrun by monsters, while he went to enjoy himself in Radiant City, only to be exiled for his incompetence.
I reversed my healing power into killing techniques, building humanity's second-largest power amidst mountains of corpses and seas of blood, only to be sacrificed in his jealousy, devoured alive by demons for seven days and seven nights.
This time, the carriage bound for the border stopped before me, and without hesitation, he pushed me toward the airship to Radiant City, eager to go to the border as the "savior."
Watching his impatient back, I almost burst out laughing.
Go, my foolish brother.
Do you think those bloodthirsty thugs of Shattered Stone Fortress would recognize you as their king without my self-created "healing backlash" in hell?
In this life, you'll stay in the hell you chose, and watch how I use healing magic to give this desperate world a "physical salvation"!

On the eve of the World Championship, my head coach's wife drugged me.
She personally destroyed my throwing arm and gave my starting jersey to her new substitute lover.
Even to "maintain the body" for that cheater, she disregarded my life and forcibly drained 1200 ml of my rare blood type.
She confidently declared, "In less than three days, he'll be crawling back to me like a dog."
I didn't make a scene; I calmly signed the divorce papers and dialed the number of that billionaire heiress.
Later, her cheating lover was disgraced and kicked out of the team.
She traveled halfway around the world, knelt at my wedding, and plunged a knife into her chest, begging me to come back.
I just coldly watched the security guards drag her away:
"Hurry up, don't dirty my wife's estate."

To save my terminally ill wife and daughter, I drained half my wolf blood and tore out my own right fang.
Stripped of my source power, I became a worthless wolf despised by the entire clan.
My wife cast me out of the den, pinching her nose at the stench of rot on me; my daughter threw stones at me, cursing me with hatred as a blind, useless failure.
Together, they set their eyes on another young, strong Alpha. They let him trample my dignity in public, and finally had me brutally slaughtered on the frozen wasteland.
But they never knew, the reason that man could make their souls submit and fall for him was that his veins ran entirely with my heart's blood.
Only when I was reduced to a boneless husk of a wolf did my wife go mad, clawing her own gland raw, weeping and begging me to leave her one last mark.

A gang boss ground my treasured staff into dust with one boot. “A gutter-bred bastard from the slums, and you’re hiding something this delicate? Cripple him. Let him learn who runs this turf.”
I stared at the silver-white powder on the floor. It was the last relic my brothers left me.
I once swore these hands would be used only to save people, never to kill again.
But today, even the heavens refused to allow it.
I lifted my head slowly. The elven ears I’d kept lowered in submission rose one by one in the dark, sharp as a wolf’s.
“You’re asking me who runs this turf?”
My fist snapped out and caved in the boss’s nose.
I twisted backhanded. Three elite enforcers had their bones shattered in an instant, collapsing like sacks of rotten meat.
I grabbed the boss by the throat with one hand and hoisted his two-hundred-pound body into the air, eyes cold as if I were staring at a corpse.
“Three years ago, when I laid down the rules in this district, you didn’t even know where you were playing in the mud.”
“My things are not for you to touch.”

Fifteen days after my death, Morningstar Town was annihilated.
What destroyed this steel fortress wasn't the tens of thousands of zombies outside, but three insignificant things:
a bottle of whiskey used to bribe the security guards; half a can of wasted beef beans; and, my wife .
The townspeople, finding my "Laws of Survival" too harsh, strangled me to gain "freedom."
So I floated in the sky, watching them tear apart the safety net, watching them boil their neighbors in hunger, watching the very foundations of humanity crumble into dust.
The show began.

In the apocalypse, during my escape, I awakened a useless superpower: reset .
My girlfriend, despising me as a burden who only creates junk, conspired with the mercenary captain to kick me into a horde of zombies.
She had planned everything, except for one thing.
My superpower wasn't "creating junk," but a conceptual-level divine skill !
A zombie bites my heart? Reset my body's state, instantly revived!
A rabid mutant attacks? Reset its hunger nerve, making it instantly kneel like a dog!
I single-handedly fought my way through the zombie horde and knocked on the shelter's door.
Beside the captain's shattered neck, I held my desperately begging ex-girlfriend upside down, smiling as I suspended her directly above the zombie horde.
"You were right, useless people should be zombie food. Now, it's your turn to prove your worth."
Then, I released her.

On Day 100 of the global heat collapse, surface temperature climbed to a hopeless 70°C.

To keep my girlfriend from being roasted alive, I drove my ice ability past the limit and became her personal human air conditioner.

But when my ability core was on the verge of shattering and I collapsed coughing blood, she stole the last two bottles of water from my pack and climbed into someone else’s temperature-controlled car without looking back.

Before she left, she tossed the life-saving lump of ice I’d condensed with half my life onto the blistering asphalt like garbage.

“Jack, I’m sick of your cooling cutting out any second. I’m not staying here to die with you.”

She didn’t know—

The moment that ice turned into white vapor, the broken ability core in my chest—the one ruined because of her—evolved in the abyss.

On our wedding night, my wife said to me: "Lucas's family needs an heir, and I've agreed to carry one for them."
Seeing me trembling all over, she gently cupped my face and added softly: "It's just IVF—a way to repay their kindness. The entire process is medical, with no physical contact at all. Once the baby is born and the debt is settled, I'll have as many children with you as you want, okay?"
For the sake of our ten years of love and the debt of gratitude we owed, I gritted my teeth and agreed.
Until three months later, when I found her lying naked on our wedding bed, frantically making love with Lucas.

In my last life, my parents favored my younger brother. They promised him to the angel who would remain on the surface, and shoved me to an abyssal demon.
When the apocalypse came, the angel burned through her divine power and fell. I took my family in out of kindness, and they repaid me with a bowl of poisoned soup.
When I opened my eyes again, our whole family had reincarnated.
This time, my parents couldn’t wait to push my brother into the demon’s arms, dreaming of living off him inside the abyssal lair.
I watched them sign the shadow contract like they were grabbing a priceless treasure, then took the rejected holy-light angel without hesitation.
They had no idea the Abyss’s shelter is paid for in flesh and blood.
But an angel’s loyalty can raise an iron divine kingdom that never falls, even in this world-ending flood.

In my last life, a friend I’d trusted for ten years drove a knife into my heart over a single biscuit. When I opened my eyes again, we had both been reborn—right before the extreme freeze arrived.

He was convinced the apocalypse had come. He borrowed from loan sharks, rented a massive warehouse to hoard supplies, and even crowned himself king during the icebound period, killing without mercy.

But he didn’t know the truth:

This disaster would end completely after only thirty days.

While he taunted me like a madman, I didn’t expose him. I calmly requested thirty days of paid leave from my company.

This time, I’ll sit in a warm, climate-controlled room and watch—when the state machine restarts on day thirty—how he drops to his knees and sobs in despair.

A wealthy socialite slapped me hard across the face in the emergency room.
What she didn't know was that I was actually a specially appointed expert ranked number one in the world in cardiac surgery. What
she didn't know even more was that three hours later, I would be holding the scalpel, deciding the life or death of the head of her entire family.
When the most authoritative hospital director in New York, accompanied by a group of experts, stumbled into the emergency room, sweating profusely and bowing to me, this socialite's dream of a life of luxury was shattered completely.

The day the IVF succeeded was when I realized Michael had deceived me all along.
He had only used me as a surrogate for my sister.
When I confronted him, he tested me, forcing me to kill someone. "Afraid to pull the trigger? Doesn't seem like my kind of woman," he sneered.
I tried to run, but he caught me.
He kept me locked away, forced me to eat foods I was allergic to until I needed my stomach pumped, and chained me to the bed while he went off with her.
I cried until I had no tears left—and finally learned how to hold a gun.

This was the 99th time Sabrina stood me up for our wedding appointment.
Just as I was leaving, I got a text from that new male student of hers—attached was a photo of him shirtless, wrapped around her sleeping form with a caption that screamed pure provocation:
[If you really loved her, you wouldn't trap her with marriage. Can't you see she doesn't want this?]
When she finally picked up my call, her tone was beyond annoyed.
"Colin's having a meltdown over mixing the wrong colors, and if this piece gets ruined, it's on you. A marriage certificate is just a piece of paper—we'll do it another time."
She had no idea that, thanks to Colin "accidentally" spilling that cheap turpentine, my severe asthma was raging. Every breath felt like swallowing shards of glass dipped in blood.
And that "another time" she mentioned? It was never going to happen.
After hanging up, I calmly tossed the wedding ring I'd bought for her.
Then I turned and took the groom's suit from the senior who'd had a crush on me for seven years.

On a stormy night, a horrific crash unfolded on the overpass. The victim was brought to the city forensic center.
My husband, Ethan, slipped on his gloves and expertly examined my shattered body, his voice detached. "Record this: Female, approximately twenty-five years old, suffered severe trauma before death."
His assistant sighed. "That's rough. Not a single family member showed up."
Just then, the assistant slid a misshapen silver band off my mud-streaked finger.
"Sir, this ring... isn't it identical to the one you keep in your desk drawer?"
With a sharp clatter, the scalpel slipped from Ethan's hand and hit the floor.

I loved Lia Rockefeller for ten years, and it cost me everything.
When she said the cheerleaders were ganging up on her, I charged in and took the punches for her.
When she cried that her stepsister would ruin her at Yale, I tore up my acceptance letter right then and there.
When she held me tight in the middle of the night and whispered, "I'm so lucky to have you"—I thought it meant forever.
Three months later, I overheard her laughing in the locker room—laughing at me.
"Ian's like a lapdog. So easy to play. Now that Yale spot's open, Emmett can go with me instead."
The bullying was staged. The tears were fake. Those intimate embraces? Just tools to control me—to keep me loyal while she slept with her side piece.
She thought I'd still take a punch for her, even with a broken nose.
She thought I'd never wake up.
I'm awake now.
In her stepsister Serena's bed.

After Ava lost her voice in a car crash, my brother fled the country overnight.
My parents begged me to take his place and honor the engagement.
For three years, I stayed by her side. I took care of her, helped her through rehab, and waited for the day she could finally speak again.
But at our wedding, my brother came back to stop it.
In front of everyone, my parents pressured me to step aside. "You were only filling in for Ethan in the first place. Now that he's back, it's time to give his fiancée back."
Ava stopped walking toward me and, without a second thought, ran straight into my brother's arms.
Later, she tried to smooth things over in private. She said it was only to test my brother's intentions, and promised that in the end, she would still marry me.
She thought I'd stay right where I was, like I had for the past three years, waiting for scraps.
What she didn't know was that I had already accepted the Godfather's secret appointment. That very night, I boarded a helicopter bound for the North District.
Now that the man she never got over was back, it was time for me to claim the underground empire that belonged to me.

This was my 43rd time proposing to Isaac, and once again, he turned me down.
Then I spotted the black lace peeking out from his bag.
"My lab partner's on her period. I bought them for her."
The genius said it without a hint of guilt—even had the nerve to say I was being unreasonable.
We argued, and I stormed out, only to end up in a brutal car accident."
Bleeding on the asphalt, I used my last bit of strength to call him.
His response was ice-cold:
"A crash just thirty minutes after you left? Jane, your act is getting pathetic."
The moment he hung up, something broke—and not just my leg.
Seven years of delusion shattered with it.
When I woke up, I accepted my childhood friend's proposal.

I hate Beckett Hayes.
I hate his stupidly perfect face.
I hate the arrogant smirk that has sold millions of jerseys.
I hate that half of Chicago seems to worship the ground his skates touch.
But mostly? I hate what he did to my brother.
Eight years ago, Beckett Hayes destroyed my family. I haven't spoken to him since.
So naturally, on the first morning of my dream job with Chicago's hottest professional hockey team, I find him leaning against my office door.
Older. Bigger. Hotter. And wearing the same infuriating smile I remember.
My new job should have nothing to do with Beck. Until another one of the captain's scandals lands him in trouble and management decides I'm exactly the person he needs.
Now I'm traveling with him. Managing him. Arguing with him. Trying very hard not to notice what years of professional hockey have done to his body.
Then a photograph of us nearly kissing goes viral.
Suddenly everyone wants Beckett Hayes and Sloane Mercer together. The team. The sponsors. The fans. Everyone except me.
Because I know exactly who Beck is. At least, I thought I did.
But the closer I get to him, the more the story I've believed for eight years starts falling apart.
Beck didn't destroy my brother. He protected him.
And the man I've spent almost a decade hating? He's spent every one of those years wanting me.

"Evelyn Drake, are you truly set on joining the FBI as an undercover agent?"
The senior officer Garrett stared intently at the elegantly dressed woman before him, his gaze laced with inquiry and faint doubt.
It was his occupational habit, even a special knack, to categorize everyone he met into distinct social ranks—and he was exceptionally good at it, never once misjudging anyone.
In his eyes, Evelyn Drake, with her flawless makeup and platinum-blonde hair all the way down to the roots, was far from cut out to be an agent.
He had seen countless such pampered wealthy wives throwing petty tantrums. Most would make a scene at the front desk, only to be coaxed home meekly by their rich husbands soon after.
If such a delicate lady were admitted into the FBI, he suspected even the Kevlar bulletproof vest alone would chafe her soft skin raw.
Lost in these thoughts, Garrett let out a disdainful chuckle, his tone brimming with scorn. "Are you really sure? You'd give up your lavish lifestyle to become an FBI agent?"
Sensing his contempt, Evelyn took off her expensive wristwatch and slipped it into her handbag, then nodded firmly at him. "I am absolutely certain."

BLURB
"You're the only one who can wake me. Now you'll carry my curse, and my crown."
When Aria Silverthorn's fiancé and stepsister publicly accused her of being Omega-born fraud, stripping her rank and dignity, she lost everything. Cast into the Forsaken Lands to die, she survived three months of hell—and desperation drove her to the forbidden Moonfall Crypt, where Alpha King Kael Nightfang has been entombed for five years.
The Council claims he died heroically. The truth? They poisoned him with wolfsbane silver, trapping him in death-sleep when he discovered their corruption.
When Aria touches his tomb seeking shelter, the impossible happens. He wakes—but only she can anchor him to life. Only her touch keeps him from slipping back into the void. Their bond is immediate, undeniable, and dangerous.
Kael should be dead. The Council made sure of it. For five years, his consciousness has been trapped between life and death, aware of every agonizing moment.
Until Aria.
She's his anchor. His prison. His salvation. And he's not letting her go, not when she's the key to his revenge and reclaiming his throne.
But their bond goes deeper than magic. They're true mates,a connection so rare it hasn't occurred in centuries. A bond the Council will kill to prevent, because true mates can challenge their entire corrupt system.

The year the gas swallowed the world, I helped design and build Dome City with my own hands, keeping the last survivors alive.

I thought I was protecting hope.

Then I stumbled onto the Council’s secret: the poison outside is fading—but they chose to hide it. Worse, they plan to manufacture and release more gas, locking everyone inside forever, under their rule.

Before I could expose the truth, the person I trusted most struck me from behind.

My girlfriend—Vera Walker.

She took my evidence, stripped my access, and traded me for a higher rank.

When I woke up, I was outside the Dome in toxic fog—my identity erased, my lungs burning, my vision slipping.

They dumped me like trash, certain I wouldn’t last the night.

They forgot one thing.

Dome City is my blueprint, my welds, my pipes—my work.

And I’m back.

"We are denying coverage for your father's surgery. You can either pay the $240,000 out of pocket, or wait for him to be paralyzed for the rest of his life."
My father was critically injured, the insurance company denied the claim, and the regional director arrogantly threw the denial letter in my face.
I gave a cold sneer and backhandedly slapped my Juris Doctor (JD) dissertation on his desk.

After ten years of being a "consumable," I performed my final maintenance on the very day Vivian handed my life's work over to someone else. I didn’t argue or resist; I just signed the paperwork with a smile. When the Thorne Tower began to collapse floor by floor due to my final permission error, she finally realized that all the brilliance she boasted of was nothing more than the residual warmth I had fed her. Now, she kneels in the ruins, begging me to turn back time. I only find her voice… annoying.